


Silver Tongue and Silver Blades

by supernovainparadise



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Breaking Canon a bit, M/M, Oops, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, The School of the Viper, They may be soft of heart but they're dumb of ass, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, post episode 6, spoilers for the netflix show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22453192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernovainparadise/pseuds/supernovainparadise
Summary: Jaskier is on the hunt for coin, but he isn't alone on this section of the path. When he runs into an old friend, truths come out that he never truly intended to reveal.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 660
Collections: W1





	Silver Tongue and Silver Blades

Jaskier pushed the door to the tavern open and slipped inside. He clung mostly to the shadows as he made his way to the bar, and none of the men and women drinking at their tables paid him any notice, engulfed by the dark liquids in their tankards. He resists the urge to shake his head as he approaches the barmaid cleaning a glass and tugs his hood down lower. He coughs sharply, gaining her attention, and at first, she grins up at him happily, ready to help, and then she sees the golden glow of his cat-like eyes beneath his hood and her smile falls.

"C-Can I help you, master witcher?" she stammers out, and Jaskier sees her eyes flit to the sharpened daggers strapped to his hips and thighs, the sheen of the metal stark against the dark leather.

"Yes. I saw a notice, posted just outside of town." Jaskier says in a quiet voice, and the soft tones seem to put the young woman at ease.

"Ah, w-well, it was posted by Sir Judyk. He lives on the top of the hill, in the manor. It's him you'll need to speak to for the money, but witcher..." the woman glances around and then leans in closer, speaking in a whisper, "they say Judyk is the real monster in these parts. Please have caution."

Jaskier nods and gives her a soft smile. "I'll be certain to watch my back, milady. Take care of yourself here."

Her grin is back then and she blushes prettily as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "Thank you, sir. And good luck, on behalf of all of us here."

Jaskier heads out the door then, and to the top of the hill. As he approached, a stableboy spotted him and darted into the manor as fast as his legs would take him. Jaskier merely shook his head and tugged his forest green cloak tighter around him in an attempt to hide his weapons, though this attempt is in vain and he knows it. As he climbs the stairs, the door is thrown open before he can even reach for the handle, and he is stuck looking up at a man dressed in so much finery, it makes his days as a bard look drab in comparison. Jaskier bites back a laugh at the thought, and tugs down his hood to better look the man in the eye.

Putting on the most disarming and simpering smile he could manage, he bowed low to the man in question. "It's an honor to make your acquaintance, milord. I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, witcher by trade."

"'Pankratz' did you say?" the man, no doubt Judyk, asked. "As in the noble family from Kerack, in Cidaris?"

Trying to keep his smile light and friendly, despite irritation tugging at it, Jaskier nodded. "Yes; my father was the head of the family. I was his heir until claimed by the witchers through the law of surprise. But we are not here to discuss my birth, much as I would love to sate your curiosity

"No, of course not. You are here for your contract, my good man, but unfortunately, you are too late." Judyk says with a shake of his head. "Another witcher arrived just before you did."

Jaskier didn't resist the fall of his smile and the appearing scowl this time. "Another witcher?"

"Aye. Didn't get his name, but arrived only a few hours before you did. He's headed off into the woods now. Although..." Judyk's face suddenly split into a nasty grin, one that Jaskier didn't like the look of at all. "A little competition is never a bad thing, is it? Complete the contract yourself, and you will earn the reward. Double if you bring back the witcher's head; rather nasty to me that one."

Jaskier's scowl deepened. "Forget it. I hope he chops off _your_ head, for the good of our guild and this gods forsaken town." And with that, Jaskier turned and stalked away down the hill, missing the look the lord gave him as he retreated back towards the town below.

However, once he got down to the bottom, his gaze fell upon the woods bordering the town, and he felt a small bit of curiosity bubble up within him, as well as a small measure of wariness. If it really was another witcher who took the contract, then there was a very high chance that Jaskier knew them by name, perhaps had even grown up with them. The last thing he wanted was for one of his old friends to get hurt or killed by a vengeful lord. Of course, there was the chance that it was Geralt in those woods, but it was a risk Jaskier supposed he was willing to take, even if the wound caused by his words still ached every time he thought of the White Wolf of Rivia.

But why should it hurt? Witchers don't have feelings anyways.

He shook off the cloud of bitterness and headed down the path and into the woods. At the start, sunlight fell through the leaves, dappling the forest floor, and the sounds of songbirds filled the air. It was pleasant and the air was warm, the chill of a long winter finally having been chased away. Wildflowers bloomed around the path, and an old poem came, unbidden, to Jaskier's mind:

_Along thy wood-lanes wild, or shrubby lawns,_

_Or hollow dells, or glens befring'd with thorn;_

_Where from its ferny lair, at early morn,_

_The forester alarms the timid fawn,_

_I would 'twere mine to wander;—or when fade_

_The gleams of evening into shadowy night:_

_What time on many a stem or grassy blade_

_The glow-worm hangs her fairy emerald light,_

_I would behold the moon-beams fall among_

_The far retiring trees, and lengthening glades,_

_And listen the low wind, that thro' the shades_

_Conveys the night-bird's soft love-labour'd song:_

_For here the soul unruffled feels its powers,_

_And seeks the Hermit Peace within his forest bowers._

He sighed and shook his head, this was no time for poetry and song. He was on the path to finding the other witcher, and warn them of Judyk's ill intent. He had an awful feeling about what may occur when they returned for their pay, and the least he could do was let them know what Judyk had said, and offer his warning. Perhaps they wouldn't need it, but Jaskier wasn't one to ignore his instincts, and his instincts said that there was evil afoot.

As he drew further into the woods, the trees became denser, and thus the forest darker. Songbirds were replaced by the cries of crows and ravens, and he could hear larger creatures moving in the brush. He silently hoped they were only deer and wolves, for the people of the town didn't need to fear yet another monster, but the smells that trickled faintly between the branches told him otherwise. Moss and mushrooms had taken over the forest floor here, rather than the delicate wildflowers, and the path was far more overgrown and muddy, but Jaskier could see a clear path of footprints trailing ahead of him, deeper still into the trees.

Following the path, he soon could see the trees thinning out into a large clearing, and heard the roar of a large beast and the sound of metal against flesh. Jaskier stepped off the path and into a small thicket of brush, so he could watch without disturbing the fight. The beast in the clearing was a hulking mass of matted fur and muscle, with giant elk antlers atop its misshapen head and a third eye set in its skull, though it was currently closed. _A Fiend..._ Jaskier thought, then turned his attention to the witcher fighting it, sword drawn and in a defensive position as the man backed up. Just one look told the witcher who he was looking at; snow-white hair, dark leathers, broad shoulders... Geralt of Rivia.

He bit back a curse and sunk even lower in his hiding spot, watching as Geralt dodges the Fiend to come up alongside the back and flank it. Suddenly, the beast pauses, raising it's snout and sniffing the air and Jaskier actually curses under his breath as he realizes that he's standing upwind to the beast and that most monsters have a heightened sense of smell, much like himself.

Then, because his luck was shit and Geralt was caught off guard by the strange behavior, the beast swung it's head and looked right at him...

And opened its third eye.

Immediately, Jaskier felt his body began to lock up and freeze, and tried to wrench his gaze away, but the hypnotic powers were strong enough that they functioned even on a witcher. His vision began to tunnel, and Jaskier knew he needed to move, and _quickly_ because the monster was about to charge. He screwed his eyes shut and focused instead on his sense of hearing. He heard the Fiend scratch at the ground and heard Geralt strike again with his sword, but in vain, and then he hears the Fiend bellow and begins to run. Just before the Fiend crashes into him, Jaskier forces his body to throw itself to the side, breaking the hypnosis and escaping the Fiend's charge. He wrenches his eyes open and darts out of the underbrush, throwing any hesitation away as he steps out into the clearing and draws a silver dagger, downs a potion, and then draws another silver dagger and faced the fiend, eyes now black as pitch and skin paler than snow, black shot through his veins and breath coming heavy.

Geralt shoots him a look, but he ignores it, focusing instead on the task at hand. The Fiend tries to charge again, but the witchers roll out of the way and Jaskier manages to sever a tendon as he does so, and the Fiend howls with pain and rage. Down a leg, and limping, it turns to Jaskier, the smaller of the two, but he stands his ground, scowling up at the beast, teeth bared in a threatening display of aggression. Geralt leaps forward while it's distracting and dispatches one of its hind legs and the creature groans and stumbles, hot and sour blood flowing from its wounds and pooling beneath it. Jaskier takes the opportunity to finish it off, rolling underneath the creature's front legs and stabbing his silver dagger deep into its chest, then darting out from beneath it and stabbing it in the neck with the other dagger. It falls heavily, crashing to the forest floor with no further ceremony.

Jaskier straightens fully, feeling the potion recede from his blood and his appearance return to normal, though his toxicity is up. He watches the dead Fiend for a moment to make certain it isn't getting up again. Geralt approaches and stands beside him, and for a long moment, all is silent, not even the sound of a solitary bird.

"You're a witcher." Geralt says, breaking the silence and turning to face Jaskier.

Jaskier doesn't look at him, he just keeps his gaze on the dead Fiend. "Yes. School of the Viper; one of the last from my school."

"Destroyed by angry peasants?"

"No, the Usurper found our keep in the first war. Killed most of us; only those of us in the field survived, obviously including myself."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Jaskier scowled and turned to face Geralt. "Other than the fact that I was an idiot and a coward? What exactly was I supposed to say? 'Hey, Geralt, by the way, I'm one of the only remaining members of the school of the viper and I've been lying to you for close to twenty years'?"

Geralt sighed. "No, I suppose not. Probably wouldn't have believed you anyway. But how did you-"

"Hide it?" Jaskier fished a ring out of one of his pouches and held it up. "It's enchanted to add a glamor that makes me appear human."

"Clever..." Geralt murmured, then turned his attention back to the Fiend. "Wanna split the coin? You helped kill it after all."

"About that," Jaskier began, biting his bottom lip with sharp teeth. "I came to warn you. When I approached Sir Judyk about the contract, he offered to give me twice the coin if I killed you and brought back your head."

Geralt sighed, and shook his head. "I'm not surprised."

"What did you say to him?"

"Something about the town and his duty to the people there... didn't go over well." Geralt murmured, cocking his head at the beast. "Well, at least they'll be a little safer."

"Aye. Where's Roach?" Jaskier asked, planting his hands on his hips and turning towards the other witcher.

"Left her at another village, a little way down. The road up was too dangerous and narrow for both of us."

"I thought I recognized her at the stables..." Jaskier muttered. "Well, let's get going. I left my own steed in the same place, so we might as well go together."

Geralt grunted, and the pair turned and headed out of the forest, taking a different route than the one they took in. They were silent the whole way, and Geralt quietly thought to himself that it was rather odd not hearing constant chatter or song from Jaskier, who was staring determinately ahead of them and not making eye contact with Geralt as they walked. Before long, they came to a spot along the road, just outside of the woods, where they set up camp for the night with their limited supplies.

As they say in front of the fire, Geralt glances up at Jaskier, who was sitting on the opposite side and turning his witcher medallion over in his hand, a faraway look in his eyes. It was odd seeing the usually talkative man like this; quiet and contemplative. It was odd and unsettling.

Geralt watched him for a moment more, before asking, "how many survived your trials?"

"All of them? Just me." Jaskier said, his voice quiet and raspy. "And I was the one they were certain would die first because I was the smallest. The first six died in the Trial of the Grasses, the other three in the Trial of the Medallion." Jaskier laughs wetly and turns the medallion over in his hands. It's silent and still. "And I've betrayed it time and time again."

Geralt leans forward, frowning softly. "How so?"

"I abandoned the path, Geralt, for over twenty years. I chased you instead of doing my duty as a witcher, and all but abandoned the guild. I played at being something I knew I wasn't because I was afraid of _myself_."

"What happened?"

Jaskier sighs and stares into the fire, clutching his medallion tight in his right hand, and running the fingers of his left hand over a scar that runs from above his lip to beneath his chin. "I took a contract in Redania for a noonwraith that had been tormenting a group of local villagers. When I found out what happened to the girl to cause her to become a noonwraith I... lost my temper." His voice barely a whisper and hand clenched so tight his knuckles were white, Jaskier swallowed hard before continuing. "I slaughtered everyone involved in her death, almost half the village, in my rage. And when I snapped out of it, realizing just what I had done, I fled, but not before one of the villagers gave me this scar. I couldn't bear to look at myself after that, couldn't see anything but the blood on my hands and the scar on my face. So I hid, pretended to be something I wasn't, in hopes that I would forget... But I didn't. I couldn't. And so, after the mountain, after what you said, I realized that I could not hide forever. Thus I returned to the path, and began taking up contracts again."

Geralt was silent once more, looking at his companion over the fire, before standing with a sigh and moving. Jaskier felt his chest clench, thinking Geralt would abandon him again, but instead, the man sat down beside him and looked into the fire for what felt like several moments before speaking. "You already know that they call me the Butcher of Blaviken, and for good reason... A group of bandits was threatening the town, and I was forced to kill them and their leader, who I had become... attached to. Thinking I attacked without motive, the people of Blaviken forced me out, never to return. To them, my good deed was eclipsed by their hatred of someone strange and different... much like yourself. You did a good thing, ridding the world of the people who hurt that poor young lass; I probably would have done the same."

Jaskier turned to look at him, golden eyes glistening in the firelight. "But did they really have to die? And so brutally too... there had to be another solution-"

"There rarely is, Jaskier. That's the hardest part of being a witcher; we're often left with only two choices: to either spare someone, or kill them, and it usually comes down to the damage they'll cause in the long run."

Jaskier falls silent again, uncurling his hand from around his medallion, the metal intertwining like snakes slithering over one another. He turns and looks at Geralt, surprised to see the man already looking at him. Their eyes meet, and all is silent for a long moment before Geralt once again breaks the quiet.

"You're very attractive, you know that?"

"Quite the change in topic..." Jaskier murmurs, but a small smile appears at the corner of his mouth. "But I'm not. I am weathered and scarred and broken; it's you who's attractive."

"I'm just as beaten down as you are; so is the curse of being a witcher. But it's not just your appearance... it's your confidence, in the way you fight, the way you talk, the way you hold yourself... You stare people in the eye even as they sneer at you and spit in your face. Maybe that comes from spending so much time as a bard, but it's a part of you I've always secretly admired..." Geralt says, his voice almost a whisper, and Jaskier finds himself shifting a little closer to the other witcher.

"I may be confident... but I lack your experience, and that air of mystery that draws so many in... that drew me in from the start," Jaskier whispers, and his eyes flit down to Geralt's lips, and he wonders, not for the first time, what it would be like to kiss the man. Would he taste of blood, as other witchers do? Or something else, something softer, something sweeter...?

"Being a witcher may be hard, Jask, but it doesn't always have to be lonely. You've taught me that over the years, and I deeply regret having let you slip through my fingers for the last two years." Geralt says, reaching up with one hand and delicately cupping his face and running his thumb over the scar on Jaskier's face.

Jaskier sucks in a deep breath of air at the unexpected touch, but smiles and leans into Geralt's hand. "No, it doesn't have to be."

He and Geralt meet eyes again, and Jaskier decides to make a move, lest he loses the sudden burst of courage flowing through his veins. So carefully, very carefully, Jaskier leans in and rests his lips against Geralt's. And, to his delight and surprise, the other witcher kisses back, leaning in with fervor.

After a long moment, Jaskier gently pulls away, eyes shining with joy and affection. "That... was even better than I thought it would be."

Geralt smirks at him, and brushes a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Oh? You've been thinking about it?"

"I'm a romantic at heart, what can I say?" Jaskier laughs and smiles softly at Geralt. "Kiss me again?"

"You don't even need to ask..."

**Author's Note:**

> The poem is "Sonnet to the Forest Ytene" by Charlotte Smith.


End file.
